hollow moving

Universe is a Rummikub

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Each time you move, He moves with you.

Each time you are, you’re born anew.

You’re the matter of the coin,
the invisible matter manifested.

Time and space are your faces,
but you’re not the shell,
you’re what knows it.

If not,
you’re like a reflection in a mirror
with no eyes to see.

We can’t prove God,
but we can prove You.

Well, we trust your words,
that you may be recognizing
your image in the mirror
and say: I am.

Or like Pascal,

You think!

You are!

Did you know you’re what you remember?
Memory,
Living memory.

You’re part of the universe
and when you move, or simply stay,
you’re recreated anyway.

The space you occupied one second ago
is recreated as a whole new space.
Maybe void.
Maybe me.

Or maybe you.

You move in space
thinking you move in time.
But no, it’s wrong.

Space is moving on itself
like a Rummikub,
each time with a new color
on the same space.

Nothing is advancing in time.
Space is finite
but reborn continuously
like a kaleidoscopic churro
from the space machine of God,

churning matter after matter after matter,
sprinkling some salt of life,
consciousness here and there.

That’s you, my friend,
sparkling from God’s blush,
thrown on the skin of space.

Time is not.
We call time
the measure of the spasm of the Universe.

That’s it.
That’s all.

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